Singed's Personal Quest
by salmonjelly
Summary: Singed's not just insane. He's also known for taking risks. On one fateful day in his underground laboratory, he happened to read an article that would change his life. For...a couple of days. But a quest is a quest. And so Singed set off on his short journey, seeking to become truly invincible - all for the sake of a particular yellow-haired skull...


The room was dimly lit, illuminated only by the faint glow of several candles perched upon a rough, worn-out wooden table in the corner. In the middle of the room stood a large laboratory workbench, filled with numerous apparatuses and flasks brimming and bubbling with green liquids. The gas emanating from these devices was thick and disgustingly putrid. Any normal person would have passed out from the tiniest whiff. But the occupant of this room in question wasn't exactly normal.

One look at him would have told you that. With nothing on his head save for several lone strands of hair, thick bandages wrapped around his mouth and across his thighs and a variety of metallic parts haphazardly attached to his flesh, he looked like a cross between a mummy and a cyborg. His boots were covered with green stains and his shirt – if you could call that one – was grey with accumulated dirt and had a large patch on the side. Anyone would think he had just escaped from an asylum. And yes, they wouldn't be half wrong.

The apparent madman currently sat on a wooden chair as soiled as his shirt and had his left elbow resting heavily on the table in front of him. With his right hand he stroked the gigantic shield that lay on the table, mumbling to himself in phrases.

"Damn Ezreal. Could've tossed him if he didn't just flash away. Flash. Hate that move of his. At least he got a nice dose of gas between the eyes."

Singed continued to talk to himself, his finger moving tenderly up and down the cool metal. Then he let out a short burst of laughter. "Oh yeah. I'm gonna burn your hair right off. All that yellow stuff. Melt your skull!"

He sprang up from the chair, kicking it backwards, and started prancing around the room singing nonsensically in a tried-and-tested tune. "Melt, melt, melt your skull, gently down the wall..."

Something at the back of the room beeped. Singed skipped towards it just as the hatch clinked open and newspapers and letters tumbled out onto the dusty floor. He scooped the pile up with practised ease and started shuffling through the papers.

"Merrily, merrily, merrily...eh, hate mail...hate mail..._more_ hate mail...a letter!"

Singed unfolded the letter and ran through it quickly. _Singed, I hate you. We all do. You know something called sportsmanship? Well of course you don't. I gues you like trolling, huh? Troll- _

With a casual flick of his wrist, the letter flew across the room and landed straight into a trash bin. He flipped through the remaining items and pulled out a magazine from the stack. _Advanced Alchemy for Beginners – How to Advance Up Your Alchemy!_

_ Someone should fire the writer_, Singed thought briefly as he opened it. The contents page was missing. Undaunted, he flipped the pages rapidly, glancing at the names of the potions being discussed on each page. "Superdye...Mega-Adhesive...already know that...Power-Jump Potion...that's for Pantheon...oh."

The item on the next page caught his attention. Dragonskin. Singed ran his eyes down the page carefully.

_Do YOU want to be immortal? No, of course you can't. But here's a way to get one step closer. With the extraordinary, amzaing, simply out-of this world, unbelievable DRAG_

There was a gigantic ink stain sprawled right over the rest of the sentence. Singed groaned – or he would have, if he was a normal person. Instead he made a mental note to drop the publishers into a vat of concentrated acid and continued reading, dropping unceremoniously onto his wooden chair as he did so.

It seemed promising. A potion that would cause a layer of gel to form over the user's skin, eventually hardening into a near-unbreakable solid. According to the magazine, this solid was flexible and would not impede movement, especially near the joints. A slow grin formed on Singed's face behind the bandages as he grabbed a nearby pen and started scratching notes onto the wooden table's tainted surface.

Incredibly fast, exceptionally dangerous and hilariously durable. And annoying. How could it get any better? "Trolling? I'll show YOU trolling." Singed let out a small snigger as his eyes moved to the recipe section.

Bat's eyes, ectoplasm, yordle brains...He had all the necessary ingredients. One foreign name stood out, however. Yeti skull. Yeti skull? How was he supposed to get that? For a moment he imagined spraying Nunu with a jet of napalm, boy and all, but he composed himself. Violence between champions was strictly prohibited unless there were exceptional reasons. That meant that he had to find some other way to-

Singed paused. He had an idea in mind. It was, however, not exactly what he would like to put into action. Nobody would. But this was a rare opportunity to redeem himself, to enhance his battle prowess, to melt some skulls.

_Melt some skulls_. Singed grinned briefly, then grimaced immediately after. _If there's yellow hair to burn, it's kinda worth the trouble._

Usually, champions participating in the League of Legends programme were housed in close proximity to the Institute of War. This was to facilitate ease of communication, as well as to allow the governing summoners to keep a close watch on the champions to deter potential troublemakers. However, there were exceptions to this rule. If a champion's mere presence caused others great distress, or if said champion had a _really_ emotionless outlook on life, or if that champion didn't even have a life in the first place...

That explained why Singed was starting to get butterflies in his stomach. Which was really saying something considering his stomach had shrunk to a third of its normal size due to all the vile concoctions pumped into it over the course of years. And that he never really had had this feeling before, until now.

The person he was meeting stayed miles away from the Institute of War.

Singed pulled a tattered cloak over his shoulders, focusing hard on the gravel beneath his feet. With the moon behind a thick dark cloud and nothing but flickering streetlamps lining the small road, visibility was greatly compromised. His cloak fluttered in the chilly wind as he trudged onward, trying not to step on anything dead or alive.

Crows circled overhead, cawing with strange unison and quietness, drawing a black spiral in the air in front of the obsured moon. It would have been picturesque if not for the fact that the atmosphere was completely grim. Ignoring them, Singed looked around and tried to make out the surroundings through the darkness. The mist spreading in from the west certainly wasn't helping.

"A shack...a shack..." Singed mumbled as his boots crunched with disturbing loudness on the gravel. He felt slightly vulnerable without his Insanity Potion in a bottle, fastened onto his back. But he didn't want to provoke the occupant of the place he was headed to. If anything came up, he would just have to rely on his adhesive to escape. One step into that stuff was enough to stop even Blitzcrank from moving. Speaking of which, he did test that out the last time he met Blitzcrank – he had poured adhesive into the robot's joints. Hilarity had ensured.

Something poked out through the dense fog. Singed squinted, picking up pace. It was a dim glow. The light coming from a rundown shack. The rhythm of his footsteps increased steadily as he headed toward it with growing anticipation.

As he neared the building, it became evident that there was a fence surrounding the shack. Dull thuds emanated with constant tempo from somewhere around the back of the building. Singed paused, looking around. There was a small metal gate in front of him, and a crude _something_ which looked like a button resting right in the middle of said gate.

He hesistated. Should he press the button, or not? His raised a gloved hand to the metal object. It hovered in midair, inches away from the button. Well, he couldn't just stand there forever. With a burst of confidence, he thumbed the metal device hard.

_BAAAM_

Something seemed to have exploded mere inches in front of Singed's face. The noise crackled through the air like a gunshot, vibrating through his bones and rattling metal. A murder of crows perched atop the fence lifted off with a volley of caws and squawks. Singed actually staggered backwards, managing to grip the gate with his left hand before he tumbled onto the gravel.

"What-the-?"

Moments passed as he stood there, mouth slightly agape behind the bandages. There was nothing. Silence slowly fell upon the shack once more, save for the thuds coming from the back of the shack.

Was that a...doorbell? Singed didn't know what to say, or rather, couldn't. He composed himself and straightened his back as he peered through the gate once more.

"Anyone home? Anyone?"

The dull noise continued. Singed carefully brought his hand away from the button on the gate before another apocalypse occured. "Hey! Anyone?!" He rapped on the metal gate twice, unable to believe that the so-called doorbell had failed to alert the shack's occupant.

The thuds stopped abruptly. Singed paused, waiting for the person to appear. Seconds passed...ten seconds...then twenty...

Then the champion he was meeting finally came round the shack, and Singed tried to prevent his eyes from widening.

There was something strange about the man in front of him. If strange meant _disturbing._ Maybe it was the long hair that fell downwards covering both sides of the man's face, or the fact that he was severely hunched over, or that he was currently gripping a soiled and twisted shovel between his pale-green fingers. Maybe it was the eyes, the glowing yellow eyes partially obsured by the dirty matted hair. Whatever the case, a dark aura seemed to follow the man, lingering behind him as he stepped slowly towards Singed.

Singed felt a chill run through his body. Sure, he had experienced lots of chills before, especially when he had drank Twitch's plague sample by mistake a few years back. But this was different. It was seriously _disturbing._

Yorick stopped in front of him, his unwavering stare never once breaking away from Singed's. The chemist opened his mouth and closed it straight after. He opened it again. Not one word made it through the bandages. Sweat started to form on Singed's nearly bald head. It wasn't the hot type.

The man standing across the gate opened his own mouth with great deliberation. Then-

"Hey, yo man! What's up? I was diggin' back there, an'..."

Singed mouthed wordlessly. Still nothing to say.

"-specially the frozen corpses, you know, hard as rock and difficult to move without snapping off a limb or two. Eh, what's with you, dude? Can't stand the smell?"

Singed felt his knees bend slightly. He tried to speak, and miraculously his vocal chords started working. "I-I thought-"

Then he took an imaginary deep breath and continued, putting on his best drawl. "I wasn't expecting the famed Yorick to be so...so..." Even the drawl died out helplessly as he looked for the right words to say. "Different."

Yorick stared at Singed for a moment, processing his words. Then he let out a short burst of laughter. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard combined with the deep throaty laugh of a sumo wrestler. "What's that? You mean you thought I was the same both on and off the Field? No way, man, gravediggers gotta chill out once in a while."

He fiddled with the lock on the gate, snorting with near-derisive laughter. "After I transformed, you know? Thought I was too serious when I was alive. So now, I don' wanna be..."

Singed tried to focus. Focus. This was reality, not his imagination.

".._Dead _serious! BWAHAHAHAHA!"

No one else laughed. Normally even Singed would have grimaced at the pun, but times were different. The gate creaked open and Yorick swept his hand towards the shack. "This way, dude. Get nice and cosy in there."

Singed didn't move. "I never introduced myself. And what I came here for. And you just let me in?"

The gravedigger turned towards the shack, swinging the shovel over his giant shoulders. "Well, anythin' we can discuss inside, right? Where its nice an' warm. Come on in." He trudged away from Singed, who stayed rooted to the spot as he watched the towering figure approach the door of the cabin.

The door swung open, then fell shut. Now there was nothing in the yard except for the howl of the chilly wind and the lone chemist, staring at the place where the gravedigger had been moments ago, with his cloak flying about wildly in the breeze. The silence seemed to increase in intensity with every passing second.

A crow soon settled back onto the fence and started to caw. Singed shook his head once, then started walking slowly towards the slightly ajar door where the behemoth had entered, partially shaken by the incredibly unexpected turn of events that had just occured.

The room behind the door gave off a rather homey feel. Warm orange light emanated from the pumpkin-shaped lanterns arranged around the room, coupled with three soft and cosy armchairs placed neatly around a small coffee table in the center. An ornate dresser was pushed against one of the walls, topped with glass containers filled with various items. There was also a large painting of a scenic waterfall on the back wall above the dresser. Most importantly, it was _warm_. Singed felt the chill drain from his chemically-augmented bones as he turned to face Yorick, who was now sitting comfortably in one of the armchairs examining his rusty shovel.

Singed pulled the tattered cloak off his shoulders, folding it into two as he walked a little awkardly towards the armchairs. He wondered if it was good manners to just sit on the chairs without the gravedigger's permission. The disembodied hand sticking out from one of the seats only served to increase his doubt. "Well, shall we start with the negotiations?"

Yorick looked up from his shovel. "Negotiations? More business talk? Come on dude, chill out. Or should I say, _warm up._" With a snigger, he waved his hand in the direction of one of the armchairs. "C'mon, sit down! Just try not to sit on ol' Pesty right there. He explodes if you apply too much pressure."

Grateful for the advance warning, the chemist moved towards the chair opposite Yorick, eyeing the hand poking out from the vacant armchair. As if right on cue, the hand started writhing about, sending what seemed like green gel flying in all directions. Singed merely blinked as some landed on his folded cloak. He made a mental note to buy one of those Anti-Staining Wipes they kept advertising in town after he got out of this deal. "Pesty? One of your friends?"

"Yeah. Pretty cool guy. Drools everywhere an' doesn't afraid of...Anyway, he's been living in there for the past month or so. Tried to get him to sleep outside, just wouldn' listen."

Yorick gestured and the thing beneath the seat started to move. As the hand stretched out, exposing the arm behind it, Singed involuntarily gripped the armrest beside him.

He had seen lots of disgusting things over the course of his experiments, but this took the cake. It looked like a living ball of decaying flesh. A ball of dirty green, shaking, slimy flesh. And the worst part was that it probably actually was. Its mouth hung open loosely, as if its jaw had been recently removed. Green slime dripped from its extended tongue onto its arms – two thin, fragile-looking arms attached to the side of its body. What should have been its legs was nothing more than a pile of what seemed like pure pus, constantly dripping off its body and regrowing instantly. It left a trail of greenish liquid behind it as it slid over to Yorick, making a sound which sounded worse than Dr. Mundo vomiting.

Singed tried to ignore the goosebumps spreading over his body. He failed miserably as Yorick bent down and scooped up the thing onto his lap, where it gave off a small belch as the gravedigger patted it on the head.

The chemist swallowed hard. "So, that's...Pesty? Looks..." His words trailed off mid-sentence as he tried to find words which were not outright insults. Realizing that his efforts were futile, he decided to change the subject. "He helps you on the Field, right?"

Yorick tickled the creature beneath its slimy chin. It burped, sending a wave of slime flowing onto the man's pants. "Yeah. Really helpful, you know? Dunno why everyone's so scared of him. Poor guy, he just needs a hug."

_And a really long shower_, Singed thought privately as he rested his elbows on the armrests. Now that he thought about it, stereotypes really were far from the truth. Where was the aura of death that the others kept rambling on about? The figure of the shadowy hulk, beating people to death with a bloody shovel? The gruesome ghouls, always the cause of nightmares? Well, that last bit was kind of true.

At any rate, Yorick seemed like a pretty nice guy. Even if he was now crooning over a ball of slime.

"Oh yeah! Wanna meet ol' War, too? An' Fatty, he's sick of playing with his fingers..."

Singed felt his tiny stomach churn. "That's nice, but maybe next time-" He paused. "His fingers?"

"Yeah. Sick of chewing on 'em already. I mean, I told people not to get too near him, but they won't listen...Anyway, tea?"

The chemist closed both his fists gingerly. "Eh, no thanks. Can't drink the stuff." His stomach was now coated with a layer of volatile chemicals that would explode if it came into contact with anything containing caffeine. High risk, high reward.

A disppointed look fell over Yorick's face. "You sure? Made with the finest leaves, right from the Shivering Isles! With hints of pepper! Blood! Sweet brain!"

Finally appreciating his intestinal conditions, Singed shook his head. "It's fine with me. Actually, about what I wanted to ask you..."

He leaned forward in the chair, placing his elbows on the coffee table. Time for the most important part. The deal. "I'm Singed. I need something from your...collection. And I'm willing to pay for it. I have the money."

Yorick stared intently at him, still stroking the small ghoul on his lap. Singed could see gears moving under the man's thick layer of hair. He opened his mouth to continue, but stopped as the gravedigger gave a slight nod.

"What's that? I got loads of stuff. Eyeballs, yordle brains...you name it. Except fingers, gotta pry Fatty away from them...heh. So, what'cha need?"

Singed felt relief wash over him. He knew it wasn't going to be too hard. "It's something simple. Easy to get. You probably don't even need it anyway, eh?" He was glad that Yorick appeared to be smiling. Piece of cake. "And I'm ready to give you all the cash you require."

Yorick shrugged. "Okay, what's that?"

"Yeti skull."

As soon as the last sylllable left his lips, he felt a particular aura rush into the room. It wasn't a happy one. Yorick's brow tightened visibly, his mouth hardening as the hand resting on the ghoul ceased its movements. There was no trace of a smile anywhere. A chill rushed over Singed despite the heat of the room. What had he just said?

"Uh, yeti skull. It's not like its really important to you or...heh. Aha." Singed couldn't do anything but let out a forced laugh as Yorick slowly placed the slimy creature back onto the floor, hands shaking slightly. He immediately regretted the words that had slippped through his mouth. "I mean, it's quite important, so, you – you have one, right? At least one?" He didn't even get his drawl right.

The man sitting opposite him had his head lowered, his mane-like hair obsuring his face. As Singed watched, gripping the armrests hard, a black mist seemed to rise from him. It swirled in the air above the ghoul on the floor which was now studying the chemist with beady white eyes as if he was some form of food.

Maybe the rumors had some truth to them after all. Maybe Yorick did have a split personality. The man in question opened his mouth slowly, almost carefully.

"No one. Insults. My ancestors, dude."

The cloak fell from Singed's hands. He wanted to stand up, but his legs suddenly felt like jelly. In fact, he didn't feel like standing at all. All he wanted to do was to dig a hole in the floor and jump right in. That would solve all his problems, nice and easy.

Wait a minute. What was he thinking? There was some form of fear-inducing magic going on. And besides, violence was strictly prohibited between champions. Singed used this fact to console himself. Yeah, violence wasn't going to happen anytime soon. Yeah.

Then the ghoul lept straight at his face, and he decided to throw his theory out the window.

"Damn-"

He bent his upper body to the side, swinging his right arm outwards as he did so. It connected with the creature's belly with a sickly splat, sending it spinning up into the air. Before it landed, Singed got up to his feet, pushing his cold behind off the chair as fast as he could-

"Wh-!"

He ran out of the small shack and onto the road, arms flailing and screaming like a baby. That was the plan, at least. If it wasn't for the fact that there was currently something green and incredibly sticky wrapped around his ankles at the place he stood. Singed tried to move his feet, tugging at the slime with gloved hands. Nothing changed but his morale.

"Dumb thing!"

Now he was rooted to the spot in front of an armchair, facing a murderous gravedigger while a putrid ghoul was on the loose and ready to attack. Just fantastic. He twisted his upper body to the side, trying to follow the creature's movements. It lay on the floor beisde the dresser, crouched down and ready to pounce again, drool pooling on the floor beneath it.

Singed drew back his right fist, his left hand resting on the coffee table for support. "Come on, Pesty. Putridy. Whatever."

The ghoul sprang up with elastic force, trailing droplets of slime. Singed waited, fist hovering in the air, until it was about to reach him, mouth stretched open-

He swung his fist straight forwards, twisting his torso as he did so. The gloved hand sank right into the creature's mouth, following through into its throat. There was a loud thud and a belch. Then the thing burst like a water balloon in front of the chemist's face, releasing a volley of gum and slime in all directions. Green liquid sprayed all over his chest and face, covering his exposed skin with a smell that was the stuff of nightmares. The force of the blast itself sent Singed bending backwards, windmilling his arms wildly to maintain his balance.

The bandages wrapped around his mouth had never proved more useful. Singed grabbed the coffee table with both hands, glancing back at the chair in front of him. Yorick was rising from his chair with the shovel gripped tightly in his right hand, his eyes a blinding yellow. The man's mouth opened as he approached Singed slowly.

"Yeti skull. Yeti skull. My ancestor's treasures. Can't let you have 'em like that, you know? Oh yeah, you can have 'em, all right..."

Singed didn't listen, instead opting to reach for a small pouch tied around his waist above his stained pants. He flicked off the slime from his fingers as he unzipped it. A few days ago he had been working on an exact replication of Cassiopeia's poison. If he remembered correctly, he had a small sample stored in the bag-

"...Over _your_ dead body! Get it?! _Your_?"

No time for crude jokes. Singed fumbled in the pouch, feeling around desperately with his fingers. He touched something cold and hard. A crystal bottle. With one quick movement, he yanked the small bottle out of the bag, pulling the cork with his other hand-

Yorick raised his shovel, black mist flowing out of his body. "An' not important, huh? Which's more important, yeti skull, or your skull? Answer coming right up after the _break!_"

The liquid in the bottle fell out as Singed turned it upside down. It landed on the slime covering his feet and started to eat its way through the gum, hissing and spitting as it did so. Singed watched it with bleak eyes, praying hard in his mind. If he got out of this alive, he would buy Cassiopeia the metal fangs she wanted for her birthday. And some of those Anti-Staining Wipes from the all-in-one store down the street.

He felt a shadow fall over him. The shovel hung high in the air in the corner of his eye, glinting in the light. All he needed was a few more seconds. One more bad pun from the gravedigger.

"Grave mistake you made there, dude. Speaking of which, I got one just outside for you. You know, the one Pesty used to live in?"

_No thanks_, Singed thought briefly as he yanked his left foot upwards. The slime stretched like mozarella cheese, finally snapping as the poison dissolved the adhesive, weakening its grip. He kicked the remaining mass of green gum off his right leg as he stumbled towards the doorway, swerving to avoid the looming behemoth just inches away from his face.

Yorick let out a bellow, spinning around with his shovel outstretched. He wasn't the cool guy he had been just moments before. In fact, he seemed to have reverted back to his personality on the Fields of Justice. Singed noted down this amusing fact as he ducked under the incoming metal. It grazed his head, shaving off a hair or two. Which was nearly all of it.

The chemist bolted out of the open door, heading straight for the gate across the yard. It would have been a quick getaway if the gate wasn't currently locked. Singed didn't waste time pondering this fact as he gripped the metal fencing beside it and started climbing, using the holes in the fence as footholds.

He needed more time. If only he had his Insanity Potion strapped onto his back right now. The behemoth had already burst through the door behind him and was now charging at him at full speed. He needed something, to slow-

Mega-Adhesive. How could he have forgotten? Singed flipped open a small hatch on his chest armor, shoving two fingers into the opening. There was a small rubber bulb the size of a peanut nestled in the gap. He squeezed it hard, twisting the rubber beneath his fingers.

Another hatch sprang open beside the first, spraying out a fountain of white liquid not unlike cement. The liquid splattered onto the grass below the chemist, creating a small pool a few feet wide. The quantity was only enough to fill half a medium-sized bottle. But Singed knew it was enough. If it could stop Blitzcrank, it was able to stop anybody else. He continued up the fencing, reaching for any foothold within his grasp, regretting not doing some bodybuilding during his free time in the lab.

Yorick reached the gate, swinging his shovel hard at the fence. The impact shook the metal hard, causing Singed to nearly lose his grip. His gloved fingers slipped slightly and he tensed his muscles. One mistake was undoubtedly fatal. He continued up the shaking fence, placing one hand over the top.

"C'mon down here, dude. Don't worry, I won't bite. Can't say the same for Fatty though."

The gravedigger reached for the lock on the gate. "Don't run. We can settle this. On your deathbed, of course."

One foot landed into the circular pool. The adhesive immediately gripped Yorick's boot with the force of a vacuum, plastering it tightly to the grass. Oblivious to this fact, Yorick worked with the lock, rambling under his breath. "Yeti skull. Can't believe it."

Singed swung himself over the fence, landing on the ground hard. No fancy parkour moves for him. The force of the landing shook the bones in his legs, dampened only slightly by the numerous augments implanted deep into his flesh. He rolled over on the grass just as the gate burst open and a grimy shovel reached for his collarbone.

It didn't get far. Yorick stumbled, the shovel flying out of his hands as he crashed onto the ground, his left boot still stuck to the grass. A muffled roar left his cracked lips, his hands clawing the ground furiously. Not a trace of sympathy was given by Singed. The chemist never looked back once as he ran down the dark road, the spreading mist soon obscuring the shack behind him, gravekeeper and all.

He was invincible. He was utterly unbeatable. He was Singed. That was what he thought as the chilly winds of the night swept past his cheeks, drying the sweat off his bald head which was now completely so.

_Time to buy some metal fangs from the store,_ he thought, his run slowing into a jog, feet crunching noisily on the rough gravel beneath him. _And melt some yellow-haired skulls while I'm at it._

_-Fin-_


End file.
